


make me better

by patrickbrewer



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe, David is a mess of course, Doctor!patrick, Doctor/Patient, M/M, Minor Injuries, Mutual Pining, Patient!David
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:21:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22121752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patrickbrewer/pseuds/patrickbrewer
Summary: David makes what he’s sure is a very unattractive face and cracks an eye open, of course, to see averyattractive doctor. His blue scrubs look nice against his very pale skin, and David wants to choke himself with the stethoscope around his neck for embarrassing himself like this. Warm brown eyes look down at him, open and kind, andgod, thecurls.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 29
Kudos: 310





	make me better

**Author's Note:**

> writing this reminded of that john mulaney bit about being nervous on airplanes and just imagining david in that situation has me crying

“If you don’t get out of the car and into the clinic in 30 seconds I am physically shoving you out and driving home without you,” Stevie threatens, pushing at David’s stubborn shoulder, which is of course connected to the rest of his stubborn body that does not want to get out of the car under any circumstances. 

Normally, he’d be all for playing up a minor injury. He once managed to seduce an ER doctor despite only showing up in the first place for a paper cut on his face. But he doesn’t exactly trust the Elmdale Free Clinic, and he’s sure as hell not confident that they won’t try to amputate his leg instead of disinfecting and bandaging the gash on his foot. 

He’d been attempting to carry two boxes into the store at once after Alexis ran off with Ted and Stevie refused to continue helping until he did an equal amount of work as her. She’s the entire reason he’s injured in the first place–or maybe it’s the cheap shoes he chose to wear to avoid potential scuffing–and still she’s bossing him around.

“For the millionth time, I’m fine!” he insists, wincing as his foot throbs. “It will stop bleeding eventually!”

“Oh my god, David,” Stevie says, voice taking on a rarely-used dangerous tone, one that makes it clear she’s at the end of her patience. “I did not drive you all the way here just to turn right back around. Get your ass in the building before I drag you there.” 

A glaring contest ensues, something David is usually particularly well-versed in, but Stevie wins this time around, dark hair falling into her face. It’s clearly a tactic. She knows how afraid David is of  _ The Ring _ . 

So somehow he ends up in the clinic waiting room, sending Stevie a string of expletives over text. She doesn’t answer, probably trying to make David even more anxious about her actually leaving here, even though they both know she would never actually do that. He may annoy the shit out of her, but he’s her best friend. That’s his job. 

“David Rose?” An older woman stands in the doorway that leads further into the building, making eye contact with him as he stands. She gestures with the clipboard she is holding. “This way.” 

The place is actually surprisingly clean. The tiled floors shine in the bright lighting, and he can even somewhat see the reflection of his shoes as he limps along after the nurse. 

“Come over here for a moment, please,” the nurse says, gesturing to a small space at the end of the hallway. “I’m going to take your vitals, and then I’ll take you to the exam room.” 

David eyes the blood pressure cuff and feels a rush of fear flood his throat. He had a bad experience with one of those when he was little. Adelina had taken him to the pharmacy with her while she picked up his mother’s prescriptions, and he wandered over to the free blood pressure station, slipping his arm into the circle. Of course, as he pressed the buttons, it began to constrict, and next thing he knew he was stuck and screaming for help, his little arm red and numb. 

He refused to ever go back there after that, and he’s always hated going to the doctor because of it. 

“Okay,” he says breathily, suddenly feeling a bit light-headed, “um, it’s just that I don’t really do well with, um, my arm being squeezed.”

The edges of his vision are starting to get a little fuzzy at the thought. Sitting there, stuck, arm tingling as his circulation is cut off. The nurse looks up just a second before he collapses, but she’s not the one who catches him. 

“Woah, woah, woah,” a voice says behind him. It likely belongs to the strong hands gripping under his arms, keeping him upright. “Let’s get him in a room.”

Silence, then muffled voices, the opening and closing of a curtain, the clicking of a keyboard, a bright light.

“Am I dead?” David mumbles as he comes to, earning himself a soft chuckle. 

“No,” the same man from before responds, amused, “turns out you’re just very averse to blood pressure cuffs. Don’t worry, we got your vitals while you were asleep, so you don’t have to worry about it anymore.” 

David makes what he’s sure is a very unattractive face and cracks an eye open, of course, to see a  _ very _ attractive doctor. His blue scrubs look nice against his very pale skin, and David wants to choke himself with the stethoscope around his neck for embarrassing himself like this. Warm brown eyes look down at him, open and kind, and  _ god _ , the  _ curls _ . 

“Oh good,” David mumbles, cringing at the crackle of paper beneath his body, “so I just humiliated myself in front of the entire staff, then.” 

He moves to sit up and the doctor puts a steadying hand on his shoulder, ensuring he doesn’t injure himself further. He has nice hands. Strong. Effective. David wouldn’t mind seeing what else they’re good at. 

“We’ve seen it all, Mr. Rose–”

“David.” 

The doctor smiles, then repeats, “David.” 

They’re quiet for a moment, eyes locked, before the doctor seems to snap out of it, shaking his head and turning back toward the computer. 

“You were knocked out for a while, actually. Your girlfriend came in and asked if you died. We assured her we’d release you as soon as you woke up and we made sure you were good to go.”

“If you’re talking about Stevie, she’s not my girlfriend,” David replies, cringing at the thought, “and what about my foot? That’s the entire reason I came here.” 

He watches the doctor smile in profile, and his chest feels warm. 

“Your foot is all taken care of. You needed a few stitches, and I sewed you up while you were unconscious. I also prescribed you a pain killer in case you need it. It’s just a little bit stronger than what you can get over the counter.”

David looks down at his foot, finally noticing the big bandage.

“You’re very efficient,” he comments.

“Hm, well I figure that’s what people want when they need a doctor.” 

He’s charming. David wants to kiss him. 

He obviously can’t kiss him. 

“Here’s your prescription,” he says, handing it to David, who tries–and fails–to gracefully get down from the bed. He doesn’t dare look back at the paper. He doesn’t want to see how damaged it is. “You don’t have to fill it, but if you feel any lasting pain it should do the trick. And if you feel like there’s still some sort of problem, don’t hesitate to come back.” 

“Thank you,” David says genuinely, looking into his earnest eyes. 

_ Who are you _ , he finds himself thinking.

And then he’s being shown the way out, back to the waiting room, where Stevie regards him with a deadpan look of disdain.

It’s not until they’re out of the parking lot that David realizes he never actually got his name. 

* * *

So he goes back when he unknowingly sticks his face in a bouquet of poison oak, and then again when he’s hit in the back with a baseball, and another time with a fake cough and sore throat. 

He learns that his name is Patrick Brewer, that he just moved here less than a year ago, that he bites his lip when he concentrates, taps his fingers on any surface he can reach when he’s impatient, blushes when David flirts with him, and blushes even harder when David touches him.

And David wants to touch him all the time, in ways that are definitely not free-clinic-appropriate. He wants to see the blush bloom across Patrick’s cheeks, watch as he averts his eyes and tries to suppress a smile, study the way he fiddles with his stethoscope. He wants to put it against Patrick’s chest and see if his heart is the only one racing. 

He wants him. More than he’s ever wanted anyone else he wants Patrick, and it’s not in the usual way that consumes him. It’s soft, a sort of easy dance, something he can giddily sway with. He’s used to steps that are too fast, too heavy, too overwhelming, until he’s on the ground, made up of bruised skin and broken trust. 

Patrick is a nice, cool breeze. 

Words jumble in his throat as Patrick prepares to send him on his way, and he watches helplessly as he scribbles something down, desperate to reach out but terrified to try. 

“I don’t want you to keep driving all the way out here every time you get a minor injury,” Patrick says, finishing up whatever he’s writing and turning around. “So here. This is my card. If you have a problem, call or text, and I’ll let you know if it’s something you need to worry about.”

“Oh,” David breathes out, unable to keep the disappointment out of his expression. “Yeah, um...thank you, for...this. Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome, David,” Patrick replies, a tiny grin on his face as he leads David out of the exam room. His fingers brush the small of David’s back, and he’s on fire.

He waves as he walks down the hallway, corners of the business card digging into his palm. He doesn’t let himself look at it until he’s in the car, unwilling to pass out in the dirty parking lot. 

The design is simple: white paper with black text that shows his name, number, email, and fax number. The only thing that stands out is the big blue arrow that clearly wasn’t printed with the rest of the cards, indicating for David to flip it over. He does so slowly, barely able to breathe as he sees another number clearly printed on the back along with a short message. 

_ It’s unprofessional to flirt with patients, but I like to think we’re a little more than that. ;) _

He actually used a  _ winky face _ . David is in love. 

He immediately saves the number in his phone, then sends a text. 

**D: I think I’m having a heart attack. Can you come help?**

**P: That depends, where is this happening?**

David takes a picture of the front of the clinic through the window and sends it, practically jumping out of his skin as he waits for some type of answer. Instead, he’s just greeted with the sight of Patrick exiting the building. He pauses on the sidewalk, confused for a moment, until he spots David waving from where he’s still seated in his car. 

He approaches the car with a big smile, sliding into the passenger seat when David beckons him inside. 

“So a heart attack, huh?” he says, voice kind of hoarse as he shuts the door behind him. 

David smiles, shaking his head, and leans over, hooking his fingers around the back of Patrick’s neck as he turns to look at him. 

“Shut up,” he whispers just before their lips meet. 

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi @ patrickbrewcr on tumblr and twitter 💜


End file.
